Chapter 25
25
CELIA
I woke up to find myself being lifted out of the car. Dante’s arm was around my waist, and he lifted me easily against the warmth of his hoodie and the solidity of his chest beneath. I wrapped my arms around his neck to mold myself to his body.
Pink dawn was streaking the horizon; the roar of the ocean was just beyond us. But I could barely register where we were. I couldn’t take my eyes off Dante. Colorful tattoos climbed up his throat toward a big, determined jaw. His face was roughly handsome, with harsh features and high cheekbones, but his lips were soft and sensitive. His lower lip was rounded and his thinner upper lip had a pronounced bow. It was a mouth made for kissing.
Not that I had any business thinking about Dante’s mouth, especially when he turned his head and his dark gaze found mine. His deep-brown eyes were flecked with gold and amber, and he looked at me as if he were thinking of kissing me too. We were entirely too close together. It would take so little to close the distance between us.
He seemed to shake off the tension with some effort and flashed me a smile. That smile transformed his face—it was brighter than the sun rising in the distance. An answering smile tugged at my lips, and I leaned toward his lips without even thinking, wanting so badly to kiss him.
The sheer ridiculousness of it hit me, and I turned my face into his throat—and the clean, bright scent of his aftershave, damn him—as I tried to overcome the surge of lust I felt when we were close.
I wanted to stay close to him, but I needed to think clearly. I couldn’t be attached to any of these men. I understood the world that I lived in.
Moriah was right when she said the world was always dangerous for girls.
“Put me down,” I whispered, then added, “Please?”
He didn’t hesitate. He set me down carefully on my feet, but he kept his arm around my waist until he was sure I was steady.
“Thank you.” I turned and looked at where we were, which I should’ve done from the beginning. How the hell had I gotten so distracted by him?
We were standing outside a little beach motel. The motel seemed like a holdout against the multistory towers of the hotels further down the beach. Here, there were colorful Adirondack chairs sunk in the sand, facing toward the water, and just a dozen little units. The office looked quiet and dark at this hour, but he was already heading toward the door.
He lifted a rock from the sandy ground and picked up a key.
“We’re going to be safe here,” I said, trying to convince myself. “Even though the security system includes leaving keys in the foliage.”
He nodded.
“Can we go sit for a little while before we go in?” There was something so magical about the ocean breaking on the rocks. I also liked being out on this wide, vast beach. It was so different from being trapped on a bed, in a room, in a cemetery I wasn’t supposed to be able to escape. I could run here. At least, I could try.
He reached out and offered me his hand. Once again, I wove my fingers with his, even though I wasn’t sure what I was doing…or what he was.
As my feet sank in the sand while we walked, the ground slipping away from me, I flashed back to another time I’d walked like this, hand-in-hand with a boy.
David and I had been sixteen when we ran away together. Not forever…just for an evening. I wasn’t stupid, and I knew my father would react badly if he thought David had taken my innocence.
At the time, though, I’d hoped my father would force me to get married young, a fantasy I had enjoyed playing like a movie in my head. I’d been able to picture getting married on a beach like this in a white dress, the way the wind would whip my hair around my face, the way I’d see David’s beaming face through the strands.
We’d spent the evening—when I was supposed to be at an entirely fictional tutoring class that I’d even made fliers for—at a seedy motel, more rundown than this one. But it had felt romantic with David. The two of us had been talking about sex for months at that point, but once we were there, I felt shy. He’d wrapped me in his arms, and we’d just hung out in bed and watched pay-per-view movies. I’d told him that I was sorry the evening was a waste, and he must have had the most massive case of blue balls as he kissed me and told me that time with me was the best possible time, it didn’t matter how we spent it.
I’d been really lucky to find the very best man in the world when I was just a girl.
How likely was it that I’d been struck by luck twice? I glanced over at Dante, trying to steel myself to use him rather than to keep getting lost in his kindness and tenderness. He’d rescued me from Luca. Would he go on rescuing me? He was the best ally I had besides Moriah in this whole mess, and Moriah seemed…occupied.
Next time it felt natural to kiss him, I should.
I just needed to hold my heart back from him.
The two of us sank into Adirondack chairs, the pair so close that the arms touched. He passed his notebook to me.
What are you thinking about ?
I couldn’t tell him: plotting, mostly .
Instead, I told him the other true thing. “I’ve been thinking about that boy I mentioned before. The one who was murdered.”
As soon as I said the words, I regretted them. It was stupid to tell him that I was thinking about another man.
But he just wrote: Tell me something about him .
I didn’t want to think anymore about how I had lost him. I wanted to remember the good times we’d had before. I studied Dante, wondering if he really wanted to hear how I felt about another man. But there was nothing but quiet patience in his eyes, so I decided to risk it.
“He taught me to play chess, but he was terrible at it. Just moved the pieces around to make them tell stories instead of following the rules. Called the knights ‘horsies’ just to make me roll my eyes.” I smiled despite the ache in my chest.
I wiped at my eyes, embarrassed to find them wet. “He was the first person who saw me . Not as a Carmichael, not as a mafia princess, not as an asset to be traded or controlled. Just…me.”
He reached over and grabbed my hand, his expression difficult to read through a blur of tears.
“Sometimes I think I see him,” I whispered. “In crowds, or just…moments where something feels familiar. Like his ghost is watching over me. Stupid, right?”
Dante shook his head slowly. He started to write something, then stopped, his pen hovering over the page for a long moment before he simply squeezed my hand again.
“I’m sorry,” I managed. “I just haven’t been able to talk about him in so long, and it hurts and it feels good to talk about him, all at the same time. Like pressing gently on a bruise.”
He held out his notebook to me. On the page, it already said: I’m sorry .
I smiled through my tears. “How did you know you would need that one?”
He flipped to another page. I know Luca .
I took the book back from him. It occurred to me that I held all of his answers in my hands…I just needed to know the questions to ask.
“Why do I feel like I can trust you?”
He reached over and turned the pages of the book that was sitting in my lap. Another prepared page: You know that’s a bad idea .
This time I laughed, my voice shaky. “Why do you have that one ready to go?”
He reached over and flipped back in the book to the page that said: I know Luca .
I let out a peal of laughter. I could just imagine him holding up that sign for Luca, not that Luca would listen. The laughter shocked me. I’d felt bittersweet remembering the boy I used to love. Now, this man who was at my side now made me feel light and happy again.
Even in the midst of the hell that I knew was going to descend upon us, I felt a reckless joy. I couldn’t outrun Luca forever, and I couldn’t run forever from my father, either. Sooner or later, there would have to be a reckoning.
But maybe not today. I would take my moments of joy where I could find them.
I squeezed his hand back. “I want to shower off the sand. And we should probably get some sleep.”
He nodded.
My skin tingled with awareness of his presence behind me, solid and steady, as I entered the modest little motel room. I looked back to see him heading out to the car, and when he returned, he carried a bag. He dropped the key on the credenza and shut the door behind him, but I could still hear the distant swell and fall of the ocean.
When I stepped into the bathroom, he came in too, and my heart stuttered in my chest.
I looked up at him with uncertainty. Did he want to join me? The thought sent heat coursing through my body—his hands on my skin, water running between us, all the tension of the past days finally breaking.
I could picture it so clearly…him backing me against the tile wall, lifting me up, and his mouth on my neck. The way his wet shirt would cling to his shoulders, how his hair would look dripping. I longed to reach for him, to see if reality could match the fantasy playing in my mind.
But he just set a bag on the long countertop. I eyed it curiously, then looked at him, as I began to unzip it. Inside were my clothes and toiletries. My favorite shampoo, my beloved t-shirt, even a phone charger that I hadn’t had before.
“When did you have time to pack this? You didn’t leave me alone after you found me.”
He shrugged. Then he held up his notebook, scrawling on one of the pages: If you wanted to go, I knew we were going to go .
The domesticity of it—him knowing exactly what I’d need, thinking ahead to take care of me—sent a different kind of warmth through my chest. Something deeper than desire, more dangerous than attraction.
I wasn’t used to being cared for like this. I wasn’t used to someone anticipating my needs without trying to control me. The intimacy of it felt more overwhelming than if he had joined me in the shower.
I wanted him, the desire was a steady pulse beneath my skin. But I wanted to kiss him simply because I wanted to kiss him, wanted him to kiss me back without all the complicated layers of manipulation and survival. The purity of that want startled me. I’d forgotten what it felt like to desire something without calculating its strategic value.
But I knew I couldn’t be stupid. This soft, tender side of me that Dante awoke…it was dangerous.
“Thank you,” I said softly, retreating into the bathroom with my bag.
After my shower, he was already in bed. He looked like a god sitting there, with the sheets pulled up to his chiseled waist. The lamp cast shadows that emphasized the sharp cut of his jaw, the hard lines of his face and body.
I didn’t comment on the fact that he was already in the only bed in the room. I certainly didn’t mind.
I walked out of the bathroom accompanied by billowing steam. I felt slightly shy in my t-shirt and underwear.
He gave me a smile. His notebook sat beside him on the bed. As I picked up the sheet to slide beneath it, the book slid across the blankets too. As I slid in beside him, I could see that he was wearing black basketball shorts that clung low to his angular hips.
“Hey,” I said quietly.
He held out his arm to me in a silent invitation. The simple gesture felt more intimate than any touch we’d shared before. I got into bed and laid my head on his shoulder, breathing in the clean scent of his skin. I hadn’t realized how bone-deep exhausted I was until I felt my body relax against his, like some part of me had been waiting for exactly this moment to finally let go.
But old habits die hard. I should try to win him over, secure his loyalty. I rested my arm lightly around him, my fingertips brushing the ridges of muscle beneath his warm skin. His abs contracted at my touch, and satisfaction curled through me at his reaction.
When I raised my gaze, he was looking down at me with those dark eyes and an unreadable expression that made heat pool low in my stomach. The intensity of his gaze held something beyond desire – something that made me feel seen in a way I wasn’t ready to examine too closely.
“Thank you for rescuing me,” I whispered.
He smiled back and reached for his notebook: You’d find a way to rescue yourself if you didn’t have me . Thank you for letting me help .
I wasn’t sure if that was true, but I wished it was. I wished I could believe that he really saw me that way. The thought that he might, made my heart flutter.
The words blurred slightly as exhaustion and emotion tangled in my chest. There was something extraordinary about having someone believe in my strength while still wanting to protect me. About being seen as both capable and worthy of care.
His arm tightened around me, and I let myself sink deeper into his embrace. Just for tonight, I told myself. Just for these few hours, I could let myself have this: this moment of safety, of connection, of wanting someone simply because I wanted them.
But even as I thought it, alarm bells rang in my head. I was getting too comfortable, too vulnerable. I had to make smart moves before this man made me entirely stupid. Had to remember that getting close to him was one thing, but getting away was what mattered in the end.
I turned my head to one side and kissed his cheek, letting my lips linger against his skin. A test, a tease, a tactical move—except my heart was racing for reasons that had nothing to do with strategy.
He went completely still, like a predator scenting prey, and then he turned his head into mine. Our noses brushed, our breath intermingling in the quiet space between us. The movement brought our mouths achingly close. He twisted toward me, and suddenly his entire focus was on me with an intensity that made my skin burn. As if I were the only woman in the world. As if he’d been waiting for exactly this moment.
But then, right when I thought he was going to kiss me—when I could already feel the phantom pressure of his lips against mine—he shifted away.
He reached for his notebook. Watching him write was its own kind of torture. I studied his face, trying to read the words before they appeared on the page, trying to understand why he’d pulled back when everything in his body language said he wanted this as much as I did.
When he passed the notebook to me, my hands weren’t entirely steady.
I want you. But I want you to want me before we do this … if we ever do.
Heat flooded my cheeks. He knew. He’d seen right through my calculated moves, recognized the manipulation for what it was. I nodded and started to pull away, embarrassment warring with a strange sort of relief.
But his arm circled my waist and tightened, holding me against him. When I looked up questioning, he gave me a look that was part uncertainty, part hope, as if he were asking if this was all right—if I wanted to stay even without the pretense of seduction.
Relief washed through me, though. He did want me close to him. He just didn’t want to be a piece on my chessboard, just as I didn’t want to be a piece of anyone else’s.
I smiled at him and then closed my eyes, trying to sort through my thoughts when it always felt like my mind was reeling around these men. Luca and Gabriel both undid me in their own ways, but Dante was the most dangerous.
Dante left me wanting to be open, to be vulnerable, to trust and be trusted.
After a few long seconds, I reached for the notebook and set it back in his lap. “If you had to choose between Luca and me…who would you choose?”
He gave me a sad smile as he flipped through the pages, going back to a familiar page: Luca is an asshole .
We both knew that wasn’t really an answer.
Even though I didn’t know how long Dante and I could stay together, I settled down with my head against his chest for now.
The next thing I knew, I was asleep.